Swaddled in pilled flannel,
she stares through watery eyes
of allergies,

dozing now and then
over ‘the best part
of waking up’.

The house a cacophany
of refrigerator, vaporizer,
and snarled sinuses,

Even the raspy pages
of the newspaper
are a source of pain.

Bombings in Afghanistan,
a thirst for peace,
the rising price of tea…

Saturated society pages
keeps the scores a mystery
to all except the editor

and the lucky neighbor
whose paper landed on the porch,
She wonders if stealing it would be a felony.

Keeping company with errant clocks,
she worships Claritin,
Listens to the distant train, and dreams.

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